Which Way
by Missmishka
Summary: A Daryl reflective on the ways a mother grieves.  Post-2x07, rated for the dark, disturbing place writing this takes me to. 4/4 uploaded.  **COMPLETE**
1. Chapter 1

WARNING: HURT AHEAD. The direction my muses take often surprises even me in this fandom and this piece is one of them. Somehow, it just seemed a likely perspective on things that our Daryl Dixon would have. It hangs there, with no satisfying answer or end, but it is complete as is and I hope the muses stay away from this particular kind of image in the future.

**_Which Way, by MissMishka_**

DISCLAIMER: The usual warnings, I claim no ownership of these characters, they are simply borrowed with love and adoration from the original creators to have their stories embellished on a little more than the show may do. Not for any profit.

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><p>Daryl only had experience with this kind of thing from dogs. His own ma had bailed before he could really get attached to her and he'd not seen a lot of maternal loving in the women who'd passed through their lives after that.<p>

But there had always been dogs around. What they had had may have all been shit, but his dad had felt the need to have it guarded at all times. There had been the hounds, too, for hunting when his granddad still lived.

For whatever reason that man may have had, there was always some bitch among the dogs and when she threw a litter it was like a lottery. One litter he might allow to be kept, pups reared into hunting or guard dogs and sold off, but then there was that litter he seemed to deem defective that he'd bundle into a bag after birth and toss into the river.

Daryl always sensed there was some underlying meaning to all that, maybe a telling of the boys that they were still there only because the miserable bastard hadn't been bothered to kill 'em at birth. Whatever the point to it may have been, the boys never really knew, but they'd been made to witness the lottery often enough. Merle had eventually taken to tossing the bag in, but Daryl'd never gotten the stomach for it.

It was the afterward for the bitch that had shown him something of a mother's love. Each one, after having had a litter taken from her, had spent days searching for the pups she'd known herself to have birthed. Their eyes had had such a look in them that had cut Daryl to the quick every damned time. Something lost and haunted and questioning.

Accusing.

Each dog had known that their babies were gone from this earth and he had sensed that they knew and blamed him for having had any part of those deaths.

After a few days passed, the animals began to change. Some turned mean, not letting a person or other dog near them without snarling and snapping viciously. His dad had laughed at those ones, enjoying their grief turned to murderous rage, and chained them up near the edges of the property to scare off trespassers. Others stopped eating, stopped caring, and eventually wandered off never to be seen again. Daryl had seen enough dogs crawl off to die to know that that was what those ones had done in their grief. Finally, there were the older gals who'd seemed to take the loss in stride. The bitches who'd seen enough of life on the Dixon land to know that some litters would stay and some would go, but either way there would be more of the babes to grow in their bellies and tear at their teats until weaned. Those were the breeders and Daryl had never much cared for them.

In the hours turning to days after Sophia's death, he kept a watchful, guarded eye on Carol, wondering which way she'd end up going.

And wondering if he'd just be able to accept it.

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><p>I know, I know. My Daryl!muses killed puppies. I'm sorry PETA!<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Because I'm in my dark place and this called at me to be continued for some kind of balance.

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><p>Daryl had dragged the deer close enough to the camp that he could see the RV up ahead when the smell hit him. Knowing he was downwind of the base told him one thing that damned near froze his blood.<p>

A Walker was loose on the farm. At least one, but given the strength of the dead odor blowing his way, Daryl knew not to be surprised if it were more than a single stray.

He threw off the rope he'd been using to help bring his kill in and fought the urge to run as he pulled the bow off his shoulder and quickly loaded it. Staying forcibly calm, he focused on the facts of the moment as he set off at a quick, but quiet pace toward the RV, eyes constantly jumping around the open field he covered. His weapon moved naturally along with his gaze, ever and instantly ready to let loose an arrow should his eyes lock onto any threat.

There were no gunshots or screams to be heard. This told him the threat could very well have been dealt with while he was out hunting.

There were no bodies to be seen, walking or fallen in the area. This told him that they weren't dealing with another herd and no one of the group had been taken down where he could see, but it didn't do a damned thing to tell him where the hell everyone was.

The scent on the wind was only that of old death, rot and decaying flesh. This lack of more living smells like blood, feces, piss or vomit – the unpleasant scents that came with death, injury or great fear – lead him to believe that the others were ok.

_Or just not aware of the threat yet._

It was both a relief and worry to finally creep up against the sun-warmed metal of the Winnebago. He could hear nothing over his own breath and heartbeat and worked harder to get himself under control.

After a moment, he was able to tune his ears to the light sounds of cooking from the other side of the vehicle. The scrape of some plastic utensil as it stirred something around the cast iron skillet, insuring whatever was being heated over the fire didn't stick and burn in the pan. The domestic noise had grown increasingly comforting to him of late, but at the moment, it just made him frown in confusion.

Still having no idea what he'd find on the other side of this obstacle, he moved away from the RV and went wide around the rear bumper so nothing could surprise him when he stepped into the opening.

There were two kinds of surprises in this world now. The kind where you popped around a corner and a Walker was right there waiting to bite the nearest part of you or the kind where you turned that same corner and were met with the sight of a Walker threatening someone else.

She was sitting beside the fire, cloth wrapped around the hot metal handle of the skillet she held as she fried up some chicken. Her eyes were on her task, but he could tell she wasn't really seeing it. She performed all tasks any more out of more habit than actual want to do them and Daryl wanted to scream at her so badly that his throat muscles just locked down.

The damned thing was a staggering nightmare, torn all to hell by the Walkers that had made it a monster and he could imagine the stench came from this one alone. The guts were likely to be the source of the worst of it and what was left of this creature's intestines were visibly dangling from the tears in its stomach. The sight without the smell was enough to force Daryl to swallow down a reflexive gag.

Despite the muscle instinct that tightened his finger on the trigger of the crossbow, Daryl's mind would not let the arrow fly to take out the threat as it took the last few steps necessary to stand over Carol's vulnerable form.

_It was better to get this moment over now rather than wait for later, so they could at least bury her next to her daughter should things play out like that._

He knew the very second she realized she wasn't alone and his eyes wanted to close so he wouldn't have to watch what may happen next, but he couldn't allow it. The horrors his eyes watched while his mind recorded and then looped in the darkness of his sleep were something he'd never flinched away from and wouldn't start now.

Her body stilled for just a moment before her head slowly rose to look over her shoulder. No scream emerged from her as the Walker growled hungrily and reached its hands out to grab her and Daryl wanted to vomit right then, thinking she had chosen the way this scene would play. He wanted to take the choice from her so badly his hand shook on the bow's stock, but he knew he had to allow this to happen.

He had to wonder if maybe his chickenheart had allowed his eyes to close for a moment as he suddenly heard the thwack of skillet hitting flesh. His attention snapped from wherever it had gone for that blink and he saw Carol clamber to her feet, hot iron handle clasped in both hands.

Her first blow had apparently just been blind instinct to force the Walker back and blind panic filled her blue eyes as it came at her again. She swung at the hands reaching for her, snapping one off with the force of the blow, and began to stumble backward, wisely shifting away from the fire. She didn't call out or turn to look for help, just kept her full, horrified attention on the thing in front of her. When it growled and opened it mouth to lunge at her, he saw the way her muscles tightened to swing with all their strength and the black skillet crashed through the creature's face, taking off the jaw and snapping the head almost clean off.

The force with which she had made the desperate move threw off her balance and he watched in terror as her body fell into the Walker's. The bodies went down hard and the cracking splat he heard warned Daryl that at least one head had found a rock sticking up out of the dirt.

He wanted to call to her, but his throat hadn't moved to allow a gulp or breath through since the moment began. Still at ready with his weapon, he crept forward to the tangled limbs in the dirt. Neither moved as he squatted down and he allowed a single _"Please"_ to be thought in prayer before his hand went slowly to her shoulder.

He didn't get a chance to turn her or check her over. She came up at him at that simple touch with a scream the likes of which he'd never heard. Her pupils were dilated with fear and shock and he knew she couldn't see who or what it was she swung at now. Her body was set in survival mode and he was so damned glad of that fact that he hardly flinched as the still hot metal slammed into his shoulder and knocked him sideways.

That same survival instinct drove his foot out to trip her when she would have brought the impromptu weapon down on his fool head. He caught her as she fell off balance, accepting her weight as it knocked them both to the dirt. His arms went around her tightly as she instantly began to fight against him to get back up. Realizing it was useless in this kind of tangle, Carol let go of the skillet and came at him with her whole body. Fingers turned claws that would have gouged out his eyes, elbows and knees hard, blunt instruments that she beat against him.

He'd be riddled in bruises from this, he knew, as he wrestled with her as quickly and gently as he could to calm her. Her elbow may have snapped a rib just before he managed to get her writhing body under his own for more leverage. The whole time her throat continued to issue the most scared and wounded sounds he hoped to never hear again and he unconsciously countered them with every soothing noise he could think of.

Vaguely, he was aware of the others coming out of the woodwork and he'd deal later with finding out where the hell they'd been and how the _fuck_ Carol had gotten left alone, but for now she needed his full attention. Her body bucked wildly beneath him, hands slapping at his face and shoulders until he managed to get a grip of her wrists.

"Nooooooooooooooooooooo," she howled as he pinned her arms down beside her twisting head.

The way in which she screamed it sent the others stumbling back, all of them just watching the scene in some helpless kind of horror as they gladly let Daryl try to handle the hysterical woman.

Just as helpless, he dropped his forehead to her shoulder and began to plead, not caring of the audience if the words got through her panic. It seemed to take forever, but slowly, the twisting of her body began to lesson and her screamed fell to great, gasping sobs. His mantra of "_Please. Carol. It's me_" kept pouring out until she suddenly stilled completely. He waited for a moment to make sure the fright had gone from her then slowly quieted himself and raised his head. Her face was filthy with dirt and tears and her eyes were still wild as they met his, but she was the most beautiful sight in that moment that he could have wept.

None of their audience moved, still too unsure of what they had come upon, but their presence was of no matter to the dusty pair on the ground.

There was something in her eyes that scared him, so Daryl looked away to take a quick inventory. His first concern was the corpse that remained unmoving nearby and he could see the red and gore spread under the zombie's head to know that it had been done in by the rock. Next, he did a quick survey of what he could see of her injuries. Her left hand was a blistering red mess from the burns she'd gotten for grabbing part of the hot metal handle without a cloth. There would be more burns found on them both, he knew, as he felt his shoulder blistering from where it had gotten the full brunt of the skillet's bottom.

"You watched," she croaked out suddenly, taking him from his task.

_Accusation_, that's what he had seen once she settled and he couldn't deny it.

"Am I not worth the arrow to save?"

"No!" he denied hotly, then thought on how his response came out. "It wasn't that! Never that," he released one wrist and awkwardly made to touch her cheek. "I'll never let one get you."

The laugh that that choked out of her as she twisted her cheek away from his almost caress stabbed his gut as her hand began to shove at his shoulder, which tore at his heart.

"It was _right_ there! It was practically on top of me and you did _**nothing**_," she began to get worked up again, twisting to get out of his hold. "You watched it come for me!"

"I had to know," he tried to argue, fighting with her once again as her body came back to angrily writhing life. "Had to see.."

"See what?" she snarled, knee finding enough space to come up quick and hard between his legs. "See the sad old cow get eaten?"

The moment it took him to catch his breath and swallow down the balls she'd knocked up into his throat was all it took for her to get loose of him. He scrambled to his feet and grabbed her up before she went more than a few steps.

She came into his arms fighting, as he'd known she would after the fight she'd given him moments before.

Half the group watching jumped back at the violence they were witnessing, the other half moved closer in a helpless desire to break it up.

Daryl didn't try talking to her in this state until he had her back on the ground under him. He took her down as gently as he could, and turned her on her stomach with her arms held crossed across her chest using the weight of his body to hold the limbs trapped. He braced his knees on the dirt on the outside of her thighs and used his feet to hold her legs still when they would have kicked. Her head was turned for breathing, cheek pressed hard against the dirt.

It wasn't a kind hold he was forced to put her in, but she was immobile and that's what he needed. Knowing she wasn't at all receptive to anything he might say at the moment, he still pressed his sweating forehead to the side of hers and spoke quietly into her ear.

"I had to know which way you were gonna go," he tried to explain, even though she wouldn't understand a bit of where it was coming from. "Couldn't force it on you. I had to see if you wanted…"

"…to not become like Sophia?" her huffed words stirred up the dust her face was in and he eased up so she should breathe clean air.

He kept easing up as he realized she wasn't going to fight him any more and he reluctantly moved away from her body. They both shifted to sit on the hard dirt, tense in a way they'd never before been in each other's company. He felt the weight of her gaze on him, but couldn't manage to look in her eyes. Her anger at him was felt clearly enough in the way she was all but vibrating with it.

"Not wanting," she began softly, drawing his eyes up reluctantly, "to be torn apart by one of those …._things_." He watched her gulp and knew they were both remembering that sweet little girl turned to one of _them_. "Not wanting that…it's not a test of my will to live, Daryl." Their gazes locked and the raw agony he saw in hers was too much to see, but he didn't look away. "There's no living here. It's all gone. Even with Sophia alive….I'd known that," his confusion was plain at her blank declaration of hopelessness. "I didn't 'opt out' when the choice was given to us, dammit," she reminded him furiously. "I've been lying in that RV for days with access to every gun in this camp and I never went for a single one of them, Daryl. I may not be Mary-fucking-Sunshine right now, but all I know in this world is that I _**never**_ want one of them to get me."

With that declaration, she got to her feet and turned from him, striding shakily through the group to climb into the Winnebago and slam the door behind her.

The violence of her words and action were so unexpected from the woman that every body present, including his own, jumped a little. Then the eyes that had been glued to every action of the two of them began darting around the camp, taking in the chicken strewn on the ground near the fire ring and the Walker sprawled on the ground in the midst of their sanctuary. When they looked to him for an explanation, he could offer none as he got to his feet.

"Daryl…," Rick came to his side, worry in every line of his face and body.

"I'll clean this up," is all he said, body moving stiff and tired to grab the feet of the corpse.

The others moved quietly to help restore order, with the exception of Shane and Andrea who checked their guns for sufficient ammo then went off to insure there were no other Walkers anywhere near their base.

Not knowing or caring about the origins of the corpse, they burnt it a distance from the camp and main house. After the fire went out, Daryl collected his deer, which had fortunately been untouched by any predators. He dragged it the rest of the way to camp and focused on the familiar routine of gutting, cleaning and skinning the kill. His mind was curiously blank and he knew anyone watching him would see the same thing he had seen of late when watching Carol.

Someone performing a chore out of habit without a care for the actual act, eyes unseeing on the task at hand.

In a back part of his mind, he tried to put her words in some kind of order so they would make sense. They wouldn't make sense to him, though, as he couldn't figure out how they had been meant.

She wasn't suicidal or looking to be Walker bait, so he should be happy with that.

_Should be._


	3. Chapter 3

He found himself watching her more and even Daryl had to wonder at how that was possible given how his eyes had tracked her before the encounter with the Walker.

Now, though, there wasn't a blink of her eye that he didn't seem to monitor and analyze. He knew it wasn't normal, but he couldn't seem to stop himself.

She took it for a day and he was surprised she let him get away with it that long.

They were sitting around the campfire for lack of anything else to do. Her hands were wrapped in gauze from the burns she'd gotten, preventing her from helping with the preparations for dinner as she usually would.

She was idle and clearly hated it, so used to having some task put upon her, no matter how small and possibly demeaning.

He liked the restlessness he sensed in her at the moment, glad she hadn't retreated back to tears in the isolation of the RV.

The others were moving around, quietly performing the tasks of cooking more of Daryl's venison and readying the camp for night. They all seemed to give Carol and him a wide berth, though, everyone still a bit unsettled with the previous afternoon's scene.

Dale had been the only one who'd tried to discuss it, meddling a bit like an old granny, but Daryl found himself appreciating the other man's efforts to ensure peace in the camp. The man had warned him of Carol's fragile state, which one would have had to have been deaf, dumb and blind not to figure out on their own and Daryl was more than a little curious about what had been said to Carol as the other man had tended to her hands.

Daryl would have appreciated it more, though, if the man had had some sage bit of advice to give about how to proceed in handling a woman in such a fragile state. He hadn't asked, though, and Dale hadn't offered any pearls of wisdom, just a subtle warning.

Lori brought her a plate of meat and the canned vegetable of the day, peas from what he could see and Carol accepted the dish with one of her grateful smiles.

He'd filed several of her smiles away, but had yet to see any that were truly happy. If he had managed to find Sophia, he had no doubt that the woman would have graced him with a joyous expression that he could have carried in his head till death. That kind of happiness had no place in the world anymore, though, and he hated to think that maybe that was what she been getting at with what she'd said the day before.

Neither getting nor expecting to be waited on himself, he pushed up from his camp chair long enough to grab a plate then pile it with a chunk of meat and peas. He snagged a fresh bottle of water before settling back down to watch her eat.

She chewed each bite of deer exactly twenty-two times, by his count of the flexing of her jaw as her teeth worked over the meat.

It was about then that he began to realize that she maybe didn't need watched _that_ closely and Daryl focused on consuming his own portions.

The group was quiet and somber, with little to talk about and no one willing to throw a conversation opener out.

Daryl didn't mind it, used to quiet.

Most of them were content enough with the silence, except Carl and Glenn, but even the young ones held their tongues. The meal broke up quickly, with the group splitting apart with an almost palpable relief.

The Grimes family retired to their tent. Dale climbed atop his Winnebago to retake his preferred position for night watch. T-Dog went into the RV while Glenn wandered off toward the house, most likely hoping for a stolen moment with Maggie. Shane and Andrea went off on a supposed walk of the perimeter, but Daryl knew they were likely blowing off some tension in the most basic way a man and woman could.

His eyes went back to watching Carol at that thought, considering it, against his better judgment.

She went suddenly from gazing into the fire to looking straight into his eyes and he froze at her stare.

"What do you want from me?"

Her soft question made him jump guiltily and he turned away to look at the flames, letting the images of lips and legs play through his head a moment longer before he tried to answer her.

"Don't want anything _from _you," he said replied quietly.

"What are you waiting for, then? The way you keep watching me," she frowned at him, indicating displeasure at the scrutiny, "if you don't _want _something, then you're expecting me to do something. What?"

Knowing he wouldn't be able to form a coherent thought in the snare of her eyes, he went back to the hypnotic fire and let the dancing flames draw the words from him.

"We weren't allowed pets growing up, Merle or I," he began softly and sensed her leaning forward to hear him better. "The dogs were all there for a purpose. If you weren't useful, you weren't kept. That was dad's way. Lucy was as close to a pet as I got. She was a beaut. Bloodhound with a nose that could smell a 'coon from days away. I helped my grandpa raise and train her.

When I was about five, she threw her first litter. Gramps had passed 'bout a month before and I wanted those pups. Wanted to teach them just like he'd shown me. Dad, though…he was drunk. Found her out back as she was cleaning off the last one and he just picked 'em all up. She bit at him, tried to protect her babies, but he just kicked her and laughed. Merle and I watched him get an old feed bag and shove the little guys in it and we didn't know what he was up to till after he led us off through the woods to the river and tossed the bag in. I tried to go in after it and he busted me a good one for that. Couldn't chew for damned near a week without my jaw hurting."

He paused to flex his jaw at the memory, as if to insure it wasn't still dislocated by that long dead hand. She kept quiet through the break, making him feel a bit put upon under the intensity of her stare.

"Lucy was no good after that. Whenever we let her out of the pen, she just ran off looking for those pups. I'd be able to get her back most times, but it was just as bad when she was chained up. She'd sniff around the house and howl till dad'd stumble out and kick her to stop the noise. She stopped eating after about a week of that. A month later we let her out and she never came back. The buzzards circling were the thing that helped me find her afterward. Took a few days. She was nothing but that red hide and bones on the bank of the river and they were picking over her remains. Nothing wrong with her, no shots or wounds that woulda killed her, but when I got closer I saw the feedbag under her head and knew she'd found it, laid down and just died there."

He gulped down the memory, wishing for a beer or cigarette to occupy his hands for this. He set them to picking at the fraying threads of his shirt for lack of anything productive to do.

"Margo was dad's favorite. A Rottweiler. He named her after this barfly he brought home when I was about eight, but I doubt there was anything sentimental in that. She turned vicious after he took her pups. He really liked that. Was proud of her when she tore up a stray that came around and tried to mount her afterward. She damned near tore the dog's throat out. Merle still has scars on his leg from getting to close in feeding her. She went bezerk. Never had another litter. Never let another dog on her. Dad kept her out on a chain at the top of the drive till she bit the mailman and the county ordered her put down.

Then there was Ellie. She'd been grampa's. A basset hound. Seemed to live forever. I don't know how old she was when I came along, but I was ten when she finally died. I hated that dog. Whatever happened, she'd just take it. Dad kicked her, she just crawled off for a minute or two then came back for more. He drowned her babies and she'd sniff around for them for a minute or two then bury her nose in a dish of food. The other dogs got on her and she just took it, popping out more pups till she was too old to do that anymore. Nothing seemed to matter to her."

He could feel in her eyes a question for his point and he wondered if he could make it. The words and thoughts felt jumbled in his head and Daryl wasn't sure how to tie the bit of his past to the present with her.

For her.

"And you see those as my only options?"

Her sudden question startled him, lost as he'd gotten in thought, and his head whipped around to stare back at her.

"I crawl off to die, go bezerk or just accept it all?"

The summation didn't sound quite right, but she seemed to have gotten the gist of where his thoughts had been, so he nodded slowly in answer of her question. Her gaze went to the fire, expression turning thoughtful and those thoughts turning inward to a place Daryl wished he had access to.

"I guess that's about right," she said after a few moments, rising from her chair and moving to climb into the RV for the night without giving him another glance or any indication of the option she leant toward.


	4. Chapter 4

Daryl was used to being the first one up in camp, not counting whoever had opted to stay awake for night watch.

He rose with the sun, as was his norm if he didn't beat the yellow ball on the horizon.

This morning, though, the camp was awake before him and his stomach dropped at finding them all gathered when he exited his tent.

They were outside the RV, huddled together in a conversation that stopped as they seemed to sense his presence. Heads slowly began to turn toward him as he crossed to join the group and his feet dragged with a reluctance to get there and find out what was wrong.

"_I've been lying in that RV for days with access to every gun in this camp and I never went for a single one of them."_

Carol's words from the day of the Walker's attack looped in his head as he got closer to them. Her absence twisted him in knots as he tried to brace for the news.

He'd known it was a possibility.

Known it, but hadn't wanted her to do it.

A gunshot would have woken him sooner, so he wasn't sure what method she had chosen.

He was sure they would tell him, if his feet would ever get him to the gathering.

The lack of tears on Andrea or Lori's faces was puzzling, as was the apprehension on the men's faces as they watched Daryl approach. The lot of them exchanged a series of odd glances, as if deciding which would be the one to tell him and that caused Daryl to pause.

_What could they have to tell him that he hadn't already figured out on his own?_

"We'll find her," Rick stepped forward and said quietly, putting his hand on Daryl's shoulder. "We were just about to get you so we can head out."

His words were odd to Daryl, causing him to frown as he tried to figure them out.

_Find her?_

"She can't have gone far," Dale said, joining them. "I only dozed. I never doze more than a few minutes. You know that," he said to Rick, worried and defensive in the same tone, as if he'd said the same thing multiple times already. "I take watch very seriously. Thirty minutes max, that's all the time she could have had before I noticed her missing."

Realizing that their words meant Carol hadn't killed herself gave him only a moment of relief before it sank in that she was off somewhere.

Alone.

"What the hell y'all standing around for?" he snapped, turning to rush back to his tent to collect his crossbow then rejoin them. "How damned long ago did you realize she was gone?"

"She's got a good hour on us," Rick was hesitant to admit, hands on his hips and shoulders slumping.

The dejection in that posture could be contagious, but Daryl wouldn't let his mind wander to the dangers Carol may be facing. He couldn't have this turning into a reenactment of what had happened with Sophia.

"A lot can happen in an hour," a muscle ticked in Shane's jaw as he issued the warning. "We all know where her head has been lately_"

"Don't you be sayin' we shouldn't look for her," Daryl interrupted with narrowing eyes.

"I'm just saying we have no idea where she may have gone and it's a lot of ground to cover," the other man said in placating tone.

"Then we'd best start covering it."

Maggie came forward just then, quietly leading two horses toward Glenn. Daryl gave her a quick nod of thanks in seeing her coming to help despite the tensions between the group and their reluctant host. He didn't linger to watch them swing up into those saddles

"I had planned on us looking to the east," Rick said, falling into step at his side.

Daryl didn't acknowledge the comment, just continued on his way, steps hurried toward the edge of the woods.

"You have some idea where she's gone?"

He hoped, but wasn't about to go making any tender confessions.

"Look," Rick pulled him to a sudden stop, "I don't know what it is or isn't between the two of you. I do know that you need to keep your cool on this. If we find her-"

"When," he snapped, yanking his arm free and moving on again with renewed purpose.

"_When_ we find her, can you handle it if-"

"Save the fucking 'ifs.' _If_ you don't realize by now that I can, will and _do_ do what I have to, _when_ it has to be done and however it must be dealt with, then you need to get your head outta your ass and start paying attention."

The biting words had the desired effect of stopping the Deputy's attempts to converse and Daryl was glad of it. Conversation required thought and thinking was dangerous until he found her and knew exactly what he had to deal with.

At the edge of the forest, he prepped the bow and slowed his steps, knowing caution would be necessary given the possible hiding places for Walkers. Rick took a similar moment to take out his Colt and check the rounds in the chamber before they left the open field for the trees.

He hadn't trekked this particular direction since the scene at the barn, hating the memory of those foolish words he'd spoken, but he could think of no other place she could or would have gone. Unless suicide by Walker was her intention, in which case Glenn and Maggie would find her in town or on the way there.

After taking a bracing breath, he squatted down a few feet into the woods to survey the forest floor for signs.

The debris of fallen leaves and twigs seemed to have the impression of her soft-soled shoe compacting it further to the ground, but Daryl couldn't be sure if he really saw the print or simply wanted a sign that badly.

Rick continued past him, his eyes moving constantly from the ground to their surroundings. Daryl watched the other man for a moment and closed his own eyes in a brief moment of relief as he saw that the Deputy was picking up and following an actual trail.

If Rick saw it too, with his fledgling tracking skills, then Daryl hadn't imagined the print and Carol had passed this way.

He retook the lead, picking his steps carefully to move as quickly and quietly as the groundcover allowed. He wouldn't allow himself a moment to wonder at whether her memory and direction would lead her back to the swimming hole. He just let his steps guide them to that place and kept his mind focused on being alert for any zombies that may now be in these woods.

It was a quick hike and, once there, he put a hand up to stay Rick from moving from the woods into the clearing.

Mistaking the move for an indication of danger, the Deputy snapped to attention and let his eyes thoroughly scan the area.

Daryl's eyes remained riveted to the lone figure kneeling on the raft on the water, head bowed and eerily still.

"I'll go round the others up," Rick said quietly, reading the scene as one not needing his direction or presence. "Let them all know she's … that we found her."

He didn't watch the other man leave or worry about his safety on the way back. There had been no sign of a Walker threat on the walk in and they hadn't made any noise that would draw undue attention to the area.

Rick would be fine.

Daryl only wished he had a fraction of that same confidence for Carol or himself.

He switched his hold on the crossbow, simply carrying it now that the area was clear, and began to cross the open space between them.

His eyes never moved from her, not even to glance toward the stupid plant he had brought her here to see that day that seemed a lifetime ago.

At the edge of the water, he paused to consider the options. Deciding he didn't want to startle her by just jumping up on the floating dock, he cleared his throat.

Then cleared it louder.

He added a cough when she gave no reaction to his subtler efforts.

"Dammit, woman, you alive or not?"

Her head came up slowly when he leapt up on the raft and moved to stand over her huddled form.

"I go on," she said, smiling softly and extending her hand toward him.

He frowned his confusion as he automatically accepting the rose, staring at the lone petal left on the stem. A flutter of white on the platform drew his attention and he watched the wind gently pick up and move the collection of petals discarded all around her. He didn't have a full view of the plant from his current position, but the stems and petals on the dock, along with the noticeable lack of white blossoms on the shore seemed enough to tell him she'd plucked every Cherokee rose in the clearing.

"It's childish, I know," she said, rising slowly from her kneeling position then stooping to scoop up a handful of petals. "I haven't done it since grade school when I was trying to figure out if Tommy Ledeski liked me or not."

As he watched, frowning in continued confusion, she cast her hand out and released the remains of the roses for the petals to flutter to the water like confetti.

"Tommy was my high school sweetheart. When he went off to college, that's when Ed moved in. I wonder, sometimes, if things would have been different if I had consulted the flowers before I married him."

Her eyes stayed on the little bits of white drifting on the soft ripples of the water around the dock and his gaze followed automatically.

It was pretty. Oddly peaceful and soothing.

"I'm not going to crawl off and die," she turned to his suddenly. "I'm not going berzerk or any crazier than we all already are. I can't just accept all that's happened, but I can go on."

Her hands curled around his as it held the thorny stem of the last rose she had been plucking.

"I didn't have daisies, so I asked the roses. Seems appropriate, somehow," she caressed the remaining petal with a gentle finger, head bowed over their clasped hands. "It gave me two choices, go on or stop. This," she raises their hands until the mutilated flower is in his face, "this is me going on."

With that soft statement, she left him on the dock, moving effortlessly to solid ground then pausing there, head turning but not quite looking back at him. He looked from her to the pitiful flower in his fist then back again.

He didn't understand her any better in that moment than he had in recent days, but men had had that problem before the world went to shit and they would struggle to figure out the ways of women until all life forms were erased from the planet.

Daryl gently tucked the rose into his shirt pocket, slipped his arm through the strap of his bow then followed her to the shore.

~*~ THE END ~*~


End file.
